


Colors of the Wind

by Carver Edlund (goshcas)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel Ficlet Challenge, Fluff, Forests, Happy Ending, M/M, Nature, Romance, Spirit Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4399391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshcas/pseuds/Carver%20Edlund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is the spirit of a forest, and Dean is the guy who comes to the forest to relax. Which would be fine, except now he wants to cut down a tree to make room for a cabin, and Castiel will do whatever he has to in order to save the old sycamore tree from injury at the hands of a frustratingly attractive human.<br/><a href="http://kierenn.co.vu/post/124755655703/colors-of-the-wind">reblogable link</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Colors of the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> for destielficletchallenge’s musical challenge, for the prompt “colors of the wind” from pocahontas. This is just inspired by the lyrics and overall theme of the song and is in no way a pocahontas au. (shrug)  
> beta read by the lovely dpfiducia and krohma. I should have edited more than I did, but the deadline snuck up on me. Oops.  
> Also, I don't own the song colors of the wind or these characters, and I don't own those few lines of dialogue that quote the song. But I think you guys know that.

1.

The man with the green eyes is back again.

“Yeah, Sam, I’m here now. I think I found the perfect spot.”

Castiel shifts forward, closer toward the man. He’s holding something up to his face and listening to it. Perhaps it’s been too long since he emerged from the small stretch of forest that he calls his own, because it appears that Man has greatly improved their communicative abilities in his absence.

He’s not sure how long it’s been since he receded back to his place--the forest, the river, the sweet wind and the free creatures--but he supposes it’s been a while. He doesn’t notice the passage of time when he’s hidden away in the forest. The only thing he has to measure time is the passing of winter, the changing of the trees, the migration and hibernation of some of the animals.

It was a month ago that the man first found the forest. He looked saddened, defeated, and Castiel was happy to welcome him into the land, urging the river to not be offended when the man dipped his toes in. Castiel did his best to help the man without taking a physical form, and he’s certain he’d done well, the man leaving with a soft, relaxed smile.

The man was handsome. Perhaps not by human standards, as Castiel was not familiar with modern society, but to Castiel he was beautiful. His eyes were the color of the forest canopy, the fresh and wild growing grass. His skin was tan from exposure to the sun, and his freckles look like thousands of stars spanning his face.

Castiel hadn’t expected him to return, less than a week later. Castiel would almost label himself excited to see the man again, but that would be ridiculous. Still, the forest sensed Castiel’s enthusiasm and behaved for the man as he walked along the river.

It’s more of a creek, really, shallow with flat rocks that the man walks across with bare feet. But Castiel likes to think of it as a river, because that’s what it once was when the land was new and Castiel was young.

“I’ve told you a dozen times, Sammy,” the man says. It’s the first time that Castiel has heard his voice, and it’s deep and rich and it makes the river warm ever so slightly and rush just a bit faster. “Yes, I’m sure. I like it here, and I need a break from all that shit.”

Castiel moves closer to the man, studying the crease between his eyebrows and wondering how he could soothe it. He coaxes a gentle breeze in the man’s direction, but it does nothing.

Castiel reaches up to gently touch the spot in question, but the man only shivers. Castiel recedes into the river to continue watching.

The man has been to this forest many times since the first. Castiel is quite fond of him, and he likes to think that the man likes Castiel as well, although he is unaware of his presence. But then, he likes the forest, which is really the same thing.

This visit seems different, though. He isn’t relaxing, or dipping his toes in the water, or skipping stones. He’s investigating a certain square of land, one that is mostly clear save for a large sycamore tree. The tree is old and beautiful and wary of the man.

“Yeah, I know. I want to. I already bought some of the supplies.”

Castiel placates the tree. He’s certain that the man would not cause any harm.

“Uh huh, and there’s a nice plot of land, I’d only need to cut down this one old tree.”

The rushing water of the river stops. The breeze stops, leaving still summer air, and the birds stop chirping.

Castiel had had hope. But of course, Man can never simply enjoy something--they have to own it. They can’t see riches around them without wondering what they’re worth.

The wind picked back up, harder this time, and the man moves to place a hand on the sycamore. A surge of protectiveness raises in Castiel, but he can’t do anything unless--

He narrows his eyes at the point of connection between the man’s hand and the tree bark, sees how the tree seems to be swaying away from his touch, and he gathers his strength to gather his human form.

It’s been ages since he last took on this appearance. It’s a reliable one, a functioning one, and that’s all that Castiel cares about. It doesn’t take long, and suddenly Castiel is this body, just as he used to be the rivers and the trees and the solid ground.

He lifts up a hand too look at it, flexes it, curls it into a fist. He looks down, pleased to see that he’s wearing clothes--a business suit of some sort, with a tan trench coat--as he’s fairly certain that nudity causes discomfort in most humans.

The man is looking away from Castiel, so he opens his mouth to get the man’s attention, but his throat is unfamiliar, and speaking feels odd. He tries again, forcing his voice out through his mouth and saying, politely, “Excuse me.”

There’s a moment of pause then, of limbo, of purgatory, where the man pulls his phone away from his ear for just a  moment and very nearly dismisses Castiel as a trick of the wind. Then the man turns on the spot to turn to Castiel, and his eyes widen.

“One sec, Sammy,” he says into the phone, pressing one end against his chest to muffle it. Then, to Castiel, “Hey, dude, sorry, I didn’t see you. Am I bothering you?” He tilts his head down, indicating the phone, and Castiel squints at him.

He’s forgotten how stupid humans are.

He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say to that. The man was going to chop down the old sycamore--he was a villain--so why did he have to be so polite? Castiel can feel the forest leaning toward them, listening with interest. Castiel shoos them away mentally, and tilts his head to consider the man. He says nothing.

The man looks confused and laughs nervously. “Uh, you okay, buddy?”

Castiel notices that the man is still too close to the tree for comfort and he moves closer. Finally, he speaks. “I apologize, but did I overhear you saying that you were going to cut down this tree?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound threatening, but he supposes it does by the man’s eyebrows rising.

The man lifts his phone to his ear. “Hey, Sam, I’m gonna call you back in a bit, ‘kay?” When he pockets the phone, he smiles almost sheepishly. “Yeah, I was gonna build a cabin down here.”

“You most certainly are  _not_ ,” Castiel says.

The man looks at him like he’s crazy. “Are you a ranger or something?” The way the man looks at the suit and trench coat, Castiel can tell that the man doesn’t believe that.

“No,” Castiel says.

Being in human form is irritating, however. His body is already growing uncomfortable from the heat and vaguely… sticky from sweat. Castiel wrinkles his nose. Why anyone would elect to be human, Castiel will never understand.

The man is watching Castiel like he’s waiting for further explanation, but Castiel believes that his response was adequate and waits for a response.

“Um,” the man says. “Is there a reason I can’t build a cabin here?” He speaks slowly, like he’s dealing with someone unintelligent, and Castiel does not like it.

“Yes,” Castiel says, “There’s a tree there.”

The man appears exasperated, but Castiel isn’t sure of why.

“I know, dude, I was gonna cut it down. No big deal.”

That was the wrong thing to say, in Castiel’s eyes. “It is a very big deal, human. You may not cut it down. I forbid it.”

“You forbid it?”

“Yes. Now if you please, would you exit this forest immediately and never return? I cannot comprehend how I saw good in you.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down, man, it’s already set, I’ve got people coming to chop it down tomorrow. And--I don’t understand the rest. What?”

“I had believed you enjoyed the forest. Had I known you intended to destroy it, I would have given you reason to leave far earlier than this.”

“I don’t--what do you--?” The man shakes his head, clearing thoughts, and says, “I, I do enjoy the forest, that’s why I want to live here.”

Castiel remains unimpressed.

“Who even are you?” the man asks.

Castiel straightens up with pride. “My name is Castiel,” he says, and the wind around him picks up, the water in the river rushing faster, flowers and shrubs seeming to stand up at attention, “I am the forest.”

“So you’re the fucking Lorax then?”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

The man flops his hands down at the side, as if in defeat, turning to look at the tree as he says, “Figures I’d fall in love with a spot that’s home to a crazy environmentalist.”

Castiel finds himself flushing pink. In love with the forest? Truly? Wow, no one has ever--

No. This man wants to cut down the tree.

“While I am--” he shifts his feet--”pleased that you enjoy the, um, the forest--” He shakes his head, making himself focus on the matter at hand--”This forest is not yours to take.”

“I already researched it thoroughly, dude, no one owns it, I’m free to build on it.”

Rage bubbles inside Castiel. “The earth is not just some dead thing that Man can claim. Every rock, every tree, every creature has a spirit. They-- _I_ \--am not something you can own.”

The man still doesn’t seem to understand. “Man, okay, are you lost or something? There’s a hospital up the road, are you supposed to be--?”

Castiel studies the man carefully, narrowed eyes, flicking over his face. Why would he believe he’s been injured or is in need of medical attention? He’s perfectly--

“Oh,” he says, “you believe I am crazy.”

“No?” the man says, uncertain.

“I am the spirit of the forest. From the banks of this river to the farthest oak tree to the north, you are in my body. My true body.”

“Um, look, I’m gonna--I have to go--” the man moves to leave, but Castiel won’t accept that.

“If you truly don’t believe me, then--” Castiel stops when the man turns to look at him, and he explodes into light.

Leaving his human body is always so much more of a spectacle than taking it on, but for once it is coming in handy. His body disappears, and Castiel is the wind, whispering into the man’s ear.

The man is looking around in confusion, as if searching for Castiel. A bird flies by, just barely missing the man’s head, and Castiel thanks it for it’s help as the man exclaims, “Holy shit!”

Castiel urges the river past the banks, up to wear the man’s feet are, just barely splashing his ankles before receding.

By the time Castiel resumes his human form, he is exhausted, and the man is gawking at him.

After nearly a full minute of the man staring at Castiel’s once again human self, he says, “Was that some sort of--Did you--Was that--how did you do that?”

The man truly was dense.

“I have already explained. I am the forest.”

The man nods, but Castiel can tell he doesn’t truly understand.

“So, like,” the man says, and pats the sycamore, “you’re this tree?”

Castiel tilts his head in consideration. “Not quite. Each and every part of this forest has its own life and spirit. But I am the forest as a whole, and the only spirit powerful enough to take a corporeal form and defend this land.”

“So you’re a big wig here?”

Castiel squints, trying to recall the word, before it clicks in his mind. “No, I am not any sort of artificial hair.”

The man begins to laugh hysterically, and Castiel only watches him warily.

“This is the weirdest dream I’ve ever had,” the man says through his laughter.

“This is… not a dream…” Castiel trails off when he realizes he does not know the man’s name. “Excuse me, would you mind telling me your name?”

The man’s manners were clearly lacking. Castiel had long ago introduced himself. Shouldn’t he have done the same?

The man continues laughing. “Sure, Cas, why not? My name is Dean.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, trying out the word. It feels nice to say, so he says it again.

Dean is still chuckling, although he seems more strained. “I just introduced myself to a forest. The fucking Lorax. Alright. Okay. Cool. I’m gonna--” he turns to Castiel. “I’m gonna go home and wait until I wake up, I’ll see you later.”

“Um, actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t return if you still intend to cut down the tree? In fact, I would very much like it if you did not return.”

“Sure thing, Cas, whatever you say.”

The man disappears, but Castiel doesn’t think that it’s a victory. For some reason, he gets the feeling that Dean didn’t quite believe him.

Castiel flops down onto the grass, sprawling out. “We’re going to have to do better next time,” he whispers to a small wildflower next to him, and he sinks into the earth with a burst of light.

2.

The next day, Dean returns, this time with a larger man with stubble. He’s lugging a frankly alarming array of tools in a wheelbarrow. Immediately, Castiel takes his human form and hides from view.

“A forest spirit? That’s crazy, brother,” comes the accented voice of the other man.

Dean laughs, which would be a nice sound if it didn’t come from a tree-cutting forest destroyer. “That’s what I’m saying, man, it was a crazy dream, but it felt so real.”

“Maybe all this fresh country air is getting to you,” the other jokes.

“Guess I’ve been in the city too long.”

“Yeah.” He pauses in front of the sycamore. “Why here?”

“I wanna be near the river. It’s,” Dean shrugs, “strangely comforting. There were a couple of times I was here and… Never mind.”

“Hey, brother, you know I don’t judge.”

“t’s dumb.”

“If you say so…”

“It’s just, when I’m here I don’t feel alone, okay? I know, I can sense myself growing a vagina.”

“Nah, I guess I know how that feels.”

“Really?”

“No.”

They both laugh, and Castiel feels warm. Dean had noticed him there before?

Then the pair turns to the tree and the warmth leaves Castiel. He refuses to let even one tree get cut down.

He considers his options. He could summon some animals, perhaps? He could make them trip and fall into the river, but the area is too shallow, and would cause injuries.

And unlike  _some people_ , Castiel does not wish to harm any living being.

Weather is difficult to manipulate, because it is hard to keep it within the boundaries of his forest, and at the same time is difficult to manage if or when it exceeds those boundaries.

But, he supposes, desperate times.

Castiel hopes that all of the animals are close to their homes, because he can’t simply turn off a thunderstorm once he’s begun it. He sends out a mental warning to every creature to immediately head to shelter.

In the span of two minutes, as the new man circles the tree and makes measurements, the clear blue sky is overcome with dark clouds. Something beeps, and Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Severe weather alert.”

“What?” says the other man. “I checked just before I left, it’s supposed to be clear all day.”

“I know, something about a sudden shift in the clouds or something,” Dean says, still looking at his phone with a creased brow.

“Damn. We should probably wait until later, we really don’t want to get caught in a storm.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, and Castiel sighs in relief. “Sorry to make you come all the way out here for nothing, Benny.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal. I guess it’s just your forest spirit friend trying to tell you something.”

Castiel gasps and steps to further hide himself behind a tree. Had he seen him?

But then Benny laughs, and Castiel realizes that he was joking. Right. Yet, Dean doesn’t laugh. He stiffens, and tells Benny to start bringing stuff back to the truck. Once he’s left, Castiel steps out from behind the tree.

Dean doesn’t look too surprised. “Okay,” he says, “what the fuck.”

“You aren’t welcome here, Dean,” Castiel says, glaring daggers at Dean.

“So. It… wasn’t a dream, then.”

“It was not.”

“And you--you can--the weather--is your bitch?”

Castiel raises his eyebrows at the phrasing. “I can occasionally manipulate weather to my benefit, but only when the weather is in an accommodating mood, and it takes quite some work and power.”

“Right,” Dean says. “Next time the weather’s in a good mood, make it a little colder. It’s hot as hell lately.”

Narrowing his eyes, Castiel steps forward dangerously. “You do not get a say. You are trying to cause trouble here. This cannot be yours. It cannot.”

“Okay, okay, I get it, this place is yours, but--” Dean says, and Castiel talks over him.

“It is not mine, that’s what I’m trying to tell you--”

“--cant you just share it with me?”

“It isn’t mine to share!” Dean throws his hands up in frustration, and Castiel can relate to that gesture greatly. The first drops of rain fall down.

“Look,” Dean says. “I’ll plant a new tree or something, okay? I just need to be away from everything, and I love this forest.”

Castiel blushes and wishes that Dean would stop saying stuff like that. “That isn’t the point,” Castiel says, instead of something about flattery doing wonders, “the point is that you can’t just end something’s life because it conveniences you.”

“It is one tree, Cas, I don’t get why it’s such a big deal!”

The sky opens up, and it starts to downpour. They’re both silent as the rain soaks them through.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Dean says.

“I am not,” Castiel returns petulantly.

“You are. You’re ridiculous, and you’re a forest spirit, and it’s fucking raining. This sucks.”

“You should leave,” Castiel says.

“Yeah.”

“And not return.”

“Yeah.”

Castiel nods, pleased, and Dean turns his head down to avoid rain in his eyes.

“So you won’t cut it down?” Castiel asks, needing confirmation. He’s almost disappointed by Dean’s easy agreement to stay away forever.

“I just--I don’t see why you’re so against this.”

“There are some things you just don’t understand, Dean.”

“Then help me understand,” Dean says, and his eyes are open and honest and Castiel fears that they’re a trap.

Still, he succumbs.

“Come back tomorrow, no one else, no tools or axes.”

“Really?”

“I believe in second chances.”

They stand in silence, and Castiel considers that he likes the feeling of rain, but not the feeling of wet clothes.

“I’ll see you, then,” Dean says.

Castiel squints. He’s unsure of what he’s doing, and he can feel the rest of the forest listening in confusion. “I suppose you will.”

Castiel disappears into the wind with a burst of what might look like lightning, and follows Dean silently to his car to make sure that he gets back okay, and he hopes he isn’t making up the small thankful smile that Dean sends in the forest’s direction before he gets in a car--a big, old looking black thing--and drives away.

3.

Dean returns early in the morning, and Castiel ensured that the sun will shine brightly all day. He has the highest hopes that Dean will begin to understand that all life, no matter how small, is important, and will be able to enjoy the forest without having to harm it.

He is hopeful, yet he fears he might be let down.

Castiel greets Dean the moment he enters the forest, only to realize that he is still riding on the wind and that Dean can’t translate the rustling wind into English. He takes his human form quickly--pleased to see that his clothes have dried, although he’s not quite sure the logistics of that--and repeats himself.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean nearly jumps in the air when he looks at Castiel. “Shit, Cas, warn a guy or something.”

“I attempted to, but you do not understand the language of the wind.”

“My bad, I’ll have to read up on it.”

Castiel tilts his head. What an interesting development! “Man has done studies on the language of the wind?”

“Far as we’ve gotten is Pocahontas, dude.”

“Is that an author?”

“Sure, Cas. Studying painting with the colors of the wind.”

Castiel smiles. “He sounds like a lovely being.”

Dean looks at him almost incredulously, and Castiel shifts uncomfortably under his gaze.

“So, shall we begin?” Castiel asks, tentative.

Dean nods and gestures in a way that suggests that Castiel lead the way, and he does.

They start the day exploring the forest, Castiel showing Dean every nook and cranny, every natural beauty that Dean has never thought to consider.

He brings Dean to the highest point of the forest, a cliff overlooking a plain of golden grass. He has to coax Dean into stepping close enough to the edge to see it. They run with the wild deer, eat berries from bushes alongside birds, even swim through the deepest part of the river.

Castiel doesn’t understand how they got here, sitting up against thick tree trunks as Castiel talks about life in the forest, about how he watched as his brothers were destroyed for the creation of parking lots, how his own domain grows smaller each year as they expand the road alongside him, how the creatures in this forest fear humanity but are always willing to accept them. Then Dean is talking about his years in the city, surrounded by buildings taller than the tallest tree, about how he feels like he’s turning into someone he doesn’t want to be, about how being in the forest reminds him of who he was when he was young.

Castiel tells him that the forest is always open to him, but if he cuts down the tree, he--the forest--will not forgive him.

It is dark by the time they return to the tree in question, and Castiel turns to Dean one final question. “Do you know how tall this sycamore will grow?”

Dean shakes his head.

Castiel smiles softly. “Neither do I. But we’ll never know, if you cut it down.”

A long minute passes where Dean just looks at the tree.

“Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel tilts his head. Answering his silent question, Dean continues, “For showing me all this. You’re right.”

“I’m right,” says Castiel, almost but not quite like a question.

“I shouldn’t be--infringing on all of this. Your home-- _you_ are very beautiful, Cas.”

Castiel blushes, and he thinks he’s getting used to that action. “I am glad that you understand my reasons.”

Dean smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and Castiel isn’t sure why.

“So I suppose I will… see you?” Castiel says, uncertain.

Dean nods, but something in it still seems unsure. “I’ll see ya, Castiel,” Dean says.

It sounds so final. Castiel should feel victorious, but he just feels wrong as he watches Dean recede.

4.

Dean doesn’t return the next day, and the sky is stormy. Castiel tells himself that Dean doesn’t have to come every single day, that that would be a ridiculous expectation, but it still feels wrong.

It feels even more wrong when he doesn’t come back for the next three days after that, and then another three, and then another week.

Castiel doesn’t often notice the passage of time, but he notices every single sunset and sunrise that Dean stays away.

The old sycamore that Dean wanted to cut down is getting sick. It’s weak, and Castiel fears that the upcoming winter will be its final one.

The flowers all droop in the heat of summer, and Castiel himself feels like he’s wilting. He misses how Dean would dip his toes in the water and walk along the edge of it with his jeans rolled up, back before he revealed himself to Dean. Even more, he misses the way Dean spoke to him after he met his human form, the way he smiled and joked and let his hands linger on his shoulder or arm or lower back.

He misses  _Dean_.

He’s not sure if a month is long in human time, or even in his own time, but it seems like a small eternity of being alone. The animals all try to cheer him up but the sycamore is dying either way, and Castiel couldn’t save it, can’t save it, and Dean is gone

Summer turns to autumn, and Castiel realizes how alone he is.

5.

The day the sycamore dies, Castiel hears the rumble of a familiar car engine. He and some of the animals are around the tree, paying their respects. They scatter at the sound, but Castiel feels himself perk up.

He lets the wind carry him to the end of the forest, and he sees him.

Dean looks just the same, and Castiel doesn’t know why he expected him to be any different. He takes a few steps, looking uncertain, and finally Castiel materializes. He’s not sure what he wants to say, so all he says is,

“Dean.”

Dean spins around. “Hey, Cas,” he says, smiling weakly.

“You’ve been gone,” Castiel says, not like an accusation, just a question.

“Yeah.” Dean looks apologetic. “I’m sure you’re busy, but I just… needed to see how you were doing.”

Castiel tilts his head. “Why?”

“Why?” Dean repeats.

“You left. You don’t care anymore.”

“You--” Dean breaks off, pauses, looking lost. “You told me to leave. You told me to leave and not come back.”

Castiel doesn’t know why Dean would think he  _meant_ that. “That was  _before_ , before you understood me  and I understood you. I told you that the forest would always be open to you.” Castiel bites the side of his cheek before he admits, “You left and I missed you.” Castiel isn’t pleading, but he’s sincerely honest--these are  _facts_ , truths he’s telling.

Dean doesn’t look like he believes him. “You wanted me to come back?” Isn’t that what he just said?

“I wanted you to want to come back,” Castiel says. “I… enjoy your presence. And it’s lonely without you.”

Dean kicks his feet in the dirt for a minute. Finally, he says, “I missed you too. I wanted to come back, I really wanted to, but you spent the few days we knew each other trying to get rid of me, I thought you’d be happy if I stayed away.”

“Well, that was awfully stupid of you,” Castiel says, and Dean laughs for some reason but it makes Castiel’s chest feel light and so so so full with a feeling he doesn’t recognize.

“I guess it was,” Dean says with a grin.

Dean’s eyes lock on Castiel’s and Castiel knows he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. He didn’t realize how close they were standing. He can see the forest in Dean’s eyes, the slight darkness beneath them that shows he’s been tired, the crease in his eyebrows that’s slowly relaxing.

“Can I--” Dean asks, and Castiel doesn’t know what he’s asking but he nods. Then Dean slants his mouth over Castiel’s, and, oh, this is, this is something he’s only ever seen before. This is the thing that he’s seen people do when they love each other--

Love, that’s it. That feeling in him, the feeling he gets when he’s with Dean, that’s love. How strange.

Dean pulls back minutely, eyes still closed. “I know you’re new to this,” he whispers against Castiel’s mouth, “but you’re supposed to kiss me back.”

Then he dives back in, and Castiel does.

6.

Time goes on. Dean visits the forest every day without fail, and they spend their days in the river, between the trees, holding hands and kissing and talking and talking and loving each other.

Castiel asks Dean if he still wants to live in the forest, and soon enough he’s starting construction on a small cabin to the east of the creek, where cutting down trees isn’t necessary.

Even so, Dean helps him to clear away the dead sycamore. It’s a sad day for both of them, and Dean constantly worries that Castiel will regret inviting him into the forest, but Castiel trusts Dean with everything, and even more than that, he loves him.

Castiel tells him that he loves him every day since that first kiss, and doesn’t mind when Dean can’t say it back until much later, just like Dean doesn’t mind that there are days that Castiel needs to shed his corporeal form and just float along the wind or the creek.

Every day, Castiel teaches Dean about nature and the forest, and every day, Dean teaches Castiel about humanity.

Even when Dean leaves for work or to visit friends and be a decent member of society, Castiel knows that Dean, his love, the man with the forest in his eyes, will always come back.

_The end._

 


End file.
